


parts of you (are parts of me)

by Y_ellow



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: College Student Peter Parker, Dead Girlfriends Club, Gen or Pre-Slash, I actually really like Vanessa but this was not an OT3 fic so she had to be dead, M/M, Mention of past Vanessa Carlysle/Wade Wilson, Nebulous timeline but this is more of a Garfield Spidey, No underage, Sentinel & Guide AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/pseuds/Y_ellow
Summary: Somehow, Wade seems to be the only one to notice that Spiderman’s senses have been going haywire.
Relationships: Deadpool & Spiderman, Deadpool/Spiderman, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 410
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?, Marvel(ous)Universe





	parts of you (are parts of me)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never actually watched Sentinel, but I do enjoy the concept. Hopefully I’ve done it justice. Also yes, this Wade is Soft. (He will still fuck you up, though.)

Somehow, Wade seems to be the only one to notice that Spiderman’s senses have been going haywire. 

Holding himself still in the shadows cast by the nearby skyscrapers, Wade watches carefully as the spandex clad hero shifts on his heels, hands rubbing at his temples as if to stave off a headache. Might just be from overworking himself on too little sleep, cumulative stress of living the double life of a superhero and a full time graduate student working to support himself catching up to him, but- 

There’s a deep furrow between his brows, clearly visible by the pinch in his mask, and the white lenses hiding his eyes keep contacting and expanding, as if he’s struggling to focus on something. 

Wade cocks his head to the side, considering. The first time he noticed something off was during a fight, the hero focusing just slightly to the left of the target, responding to Wade’s jokes with the slightest delay. They still caught the baddie, stopped him before anyone could get hurt even, so Wade had dismissed it. 

But that was three months ago, and something’s been off with the web-slinger ever since. 

It’s common knowledge that Spiderman is a Sentinel, and a powerful one at that. Less common is the knowledge that he doesn’t have a Guide. 

Wade hasn’t been able to get much out of him on the topic, even after years of semi-antagonistic friendship, the hero stubbornly tight lipped. But Wade is good at reading between the lines, and Spidey’s dropped enough hints for Wade to figure out that there was one, once. A girlfriend, even, and that she died. 

Losing a bond is just about the most traumatic thing a Sentinel can go through, pain of losing a significant other aside, and Wade honestly doesn’t understand how the hero is still functioning as well as he seems to be, years after the fact.

But maybe he hasn’t really been dealing with it all that well, just hiding it. It’s impressive, in a masochistic sort of way, but Wade can’t help but wonder when even Spiderman’s impressive control will stop being enough. How long before he burns out completely, stuck in a zone without any way back? 

Wade isn’t a particularly talented Guide, never really had his head on straight enough to be. 

He used to be pretty steady, but between the cancer and Weapon X, whatever patience he had for the art has waned. The bond he shared with Vanessa had never been especially strong, reflecting her limited range rather than his, but it needed almost constant renewing when she stopped being pissed at him for staying away and let him try. Keeping her grounded took more effort after, and never went the same way twice. 

(Losing a Sentinel isn’t as devastating as losing a Guide, but everyone always seems to forget that bonds run both ways.)

But maybe that’s exactly what Spiderman needs. Just two strangers forming a connection, enough to take the edge off, but no risk of a full bond forming. 

As much as Wade has always admired Spiderman, looking up to him and going as far as to emulate him, he knows that the hero mostly just tolerates his presence. Spiderman is never the one to seek Deadpool out, always the other way around. And Wade is pathetic enough that he keeps coming back, regardless. 

Some small selfish part of him hopes that doing this for Spiderman might be enough to change the way the hero thinks of him. 

Stepping out of the shadows, Wade lets his boots fall heavily against the uneven surface of the roof, warning the hero of his presence. Wade watches Spiderman’s shoulders tense slightly, just enough to be noticeable, head swiveling around to fix Wade with a flat stare as he moves closer into view. 

Hearing still as sharp as ever, then, Wade notes. Not a zone, not yet, but Wade is almost positive that the hero’s control over his vision is slipping. And you know what they say about slippery slopes. 

“You’re looking kind of worked up, Spidey.” Wade says, voice low and lazy, arms clearly visible at his sides, as unthreatening as he can make himself. He watches as the hero drops his hands from his temples to rest them against his knees, rocking back slightly on his heels where he’s still perched precariously on the edge of the building. 

“What can I say, I’m in high demand.” Spidey’s voice is tight with pain, low and gravelly in a way Wade isn’t used to hearing from him, even when injured, making the joke fall flat. It kind of pisses Wade off. 

“Yeah? And how much help are you going to be when you can’t see at all?” Wade says bitingly, tone much sharper and more accusing than he means it to be, but meaning every word and more. 

There’s a moment of tense silence, and Wade wonders if he’s pushed their tentative friendship too far, poked at a wound he’s not meant to have seen. For a second, it even seems as though Spiderman is about to fling himself off the building, swinging away into the night like the dramatic little prick he is. 

And then, all at once, the hero’s shoulders slump, body relaxing and head tilting forwards in defeat. 

“How did you know?” He asks, low voice no longer trying to conceal how tired and overwhelmed he is. It makes him sound young, reminds Wade of when the hero was just starting out, too young to do what he was doing but old enough to get away with it. 

“I’m a shit Guide, but I’m still a Guide, webs.” Wade says, lightly, approaching the masked hero until he can crouch down beside him, their shoulders grazing slightly. Wade takes it as permission to press closer when the hero doesn’t recoil or actively pull away, tugging Spiderman down from his crouch until they’re both sitting down, legs dangling over the edge. 

It’s not quite as easy as with direct skin contact, but even that much is enough for Wade to channel soothing emotions, focusing on creating a bubble of calm around them to help ease the strain of hyper focused senses. 

The hero’s breathe hitches, almost sagging with relief, head falling forward until his chin is grazing his chest and baring the delicate curve of his neck. There’s a sliver of skin exposed at the seam of his mask, where it’s pulled tight against his nape. Wade wants to put his mouth against it, see if the hero would lean into it, if he would let Wade pull his mask off or even just roll it up enough to fit their mouths together and-

But that’s just his long-standing infatuation talking, and not actually helpful, regardless of what most Hollywood movies would have people believe about Guide and Sentinel partnerships. 

By the time the hero’s breathe evens out, no longer as tightly regulated, Wade has himself under control, humming lightly under his breath to keep himself centred and broadcasting positivity. He’s pressed flush against Spiderman with one arm slung over the younger man’s shoulders, maximising the contact between them. Spiderman feels warm against his side, even through the layers of their suits. 

“Better?” Wade asks, carefully, dropping his arm from around the hero’s shoulders, not wanting to spook the hero away from something he so desperately needs. Wade is out of practice with this kind of gentleness, with being an anchor for someone. Vanessa never much cared for gentle. 

“Yeah,” Spiderman says, head tilted slightly to look up at Wade, white eyes of his mask open wide and relaxed. “You’re pretty good at that, for a shit Guide.” There’s a teasing note back in his voice, all signs of stress and tension gone. 

Wade shrugs, “I’m good enough for a basic connection. Good enough to do this much for you, if you won’t find yourself a permanent Guide.”

Spiderman looks away, sweeping a look across the city in a way that makes Wade wonder exactly what he’s looking for and just how long his sight has been troubling him. Wade can’t help but to wonder if he should have mentioned something when he first notice Spiderman acting off, all those months ago. Knowing the hero it wouldn’t have done any good, and even now, there’s no knowing if Spiderman will even acknowledge what Wade is offering, if he could even consider accepting. 

Wade’s been out of town for a job for nearly a week, and he knows for a fact that unless it’s world ending, Spiderman can go entire weeks without interacting with another member of the hero community. As good as he is at concealing things, it’s unlikely that anyone in his regular life would notice anything amiss either.

Which is why Wade hadn’t even taken the time to stop by his apartment and change out of his filthy suit when he’d spotted Spiderman’s brooding silhouette overlooking the city, perched precariously close to the edge. The usually agile hero wouldn’t have survived a fall from that height, if a zone overtook him. 

As a Sentinel, Spiderman is overwhelming, a real force of nature. It’s always a treat to see him let loose properly, using all the tools at his disposition to find solutions to whatever city leveling threat he’s facing off against. 

Wade doesn’t know anyone else, enhance or otherwise, that can use their senses the way Spiderman does. Loosing that would be a greater loss than even losing the man’s ass, as glorious as it is, and coming from Wade that’s really saying something. 

There’s a long, long pause, long enough that Wade is beginning to wonder if maybe the hero’s hearing is affected after all, or if he’s just decided to ignore the whole situation, before he finally answers, still surveying their city. 

“You’d need my number for that.” 

Wade has to do a double take, eyes widening in surprise. It doesn’t throw him off for long, though. 

“Why, Spidey, are you propositioning me?” Wade asks, teasing, white eyes of his mask crinkling comically around the edges in delight. 

The hero snorts, and pushed back against Wade’s shoulder in a deliberate motion. It’s almost enough to make Wade swoon. 

“Definitely too late for that, with the way you’re always talking about my ass.” Spiderman says drily, good humour in his voice taking all the bite out of his words. 

Wade grins brightly beneath his mask, and lets his arm slide back up to wrapped around the hero’s waist, pulling him in closer, until they’re pressed flush from shoulder to toe. 

There’s something like acceptance in the way Spiderman relaxes into Wade’s hold, something like hope flaring up in Wade when the hero goes so far as to rest his head against Wade’s shoulder. 

For now, for tonight, Wade is enough to keep Spiderman anchored, to keep him steady. 

And that’s good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it please leave a comment on your way out!


End file.
